De-aged Doctor Watson
by MorbidMotive
Summary: After being kidnapped, John is turned into a toddler, and it's up to Sherlock to take care of him until he can get back to normal. But will Sherlock be able to give the proper care a toddler needs? Not even Sherlock can deduce that... Kid!lock, future johnlock, fluff! Hope you like it! Username changed from InvaderAlison to MorbidMotive
1. Chapter 1

**Updated the chapters. Same content, different spacing style. You don't need to re-read if you don't want to.**

John was very good at keeping his phone on him and charged whenever he left 221B. He would answer a call or text right away or as soon as he could if he was at work, even if it was Sherlock complaining about how bored he was. So when he didn't arrive home from the surgery and Sherlock texted him three times, he knew something was a bit off. After an hour, he figured maybe John had gone shopping to pick up a few things. After three hours, he figured that John had to stay late and that he was very busy. After six hours he began to worry and after eight, Lestrade had been called and Mycroft had started going over all the security footage. After about fifteen minutes he called Sherlock and told him they had found where John had been taken, an old hotel that was scheduled to be demolished in a few weeks.

He was now in the cab on the way to hotel to find John. His mind was running every detail he knew about the situation and before he knew it he was at the hotel. He ran inside and passed Sally Donovan, headed in the direction of Lestrade's voice. He ran into the room and stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw.

There, in the arms of the DI, was a two-year-old John.

Sherlock wouldn't have believed it was John if it weren't for the big blue eyes and the scarred tissue on the toddlers left shoulder. John looked up, tears running down his plump cheeks, and reached out for Sherlock.

"Sherwock," the toddler cried. Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts and walked over to the DI, taking the small boy from his arms. John buried his face in Sherlock's chest and cried, grabbing the detectives coat. John was wearing his black and white jumper, which was now far to big for him, so Sherlock pulled his coat around John as well. John's cries slowly started to fade as Sherlock swayed slowly and John began to fall asleep.

"What the hell happened?" Sherlock hissed quietly, so as not to wake John.

"I don't know, we managed to take a blood sample and it proved to really be John. He's a little over two years old, we're guessing. As to how he got like this, I have no idea. Whenever the doctors tried to take tests, the poor kid would nearly have a heart attack. The only reason we got a blood sample was because he had fallen asleep for a little bit."

"Who did this?"

"Two older russian men, or so we believe. We found traces of one of their new projects, an age-regressing serum they have at the russian nuclear compound."  
John shifted in Sherlock's arms and looked up at the detective, his eyes puffy and tired as his small blonde head poked out of Sherlock's coat.

"Sherwock?" He asked tiredly.

"It's me, John." Sherlock whispered, still swaying. He brought a hand up and rested it gently on the back of John's head, holding it in place while the little one leaned back against him, nuzzling his forehead into Sherlock's neck.

"Does he remember anything?" Sherlock asked once he was sure John was asleep.

"So far you're the only thing he seems to remember." Sherlock nodded and turned to leave.

"I'm bringing him home with me." Before anyone could protest, Sherlock was out the door and in the cab on his way home.

John was held against Sherlock's chest as his hand rubbed John's small back soothingly. He looked down at John and for the first time, realized that he was sucking his thumb. Even Sherlock found it adorable.

Thankfully, Sherlock didn't have any experiments out at the moment so he just had to clean up papers around the flat. When they got back into the flat, Sherlock placed John on the couch and laid his jacket over the toddlers back as a blanket, then collected all the stray papers, putting them in a stack on the edge of the desk. He picked up things on the floor that could be hazardous and moved them out of John's reach.

After the quick tidy-ing was over, he sat down next to John. He was about to go into what John called 'Mind Palace Mode', but just before he swung his legs over the couch he remembered the small toddler residing there. He carefully picked up the small child and placed him on his chest as he steepled his fingers, closed his eyes, and travelled into his mind palace.

**oOo**

Sherlock was pulled out of his mind palace by the screams of a toddler. He snapped out of his trance-like state and looked to the small child on his chest. John was gripping Sherlock's shirt and crying out in fear. Sherlock sat up and cradled him in his arms against his chest, rubbing his back soothingly as he rocked back and forth gently. He pressed his forehead against John's and tried to soothe him.

"Ssh, it's okay, John. It's okay, I'm here. Ssh." The sound of John's sobs broke Sherlock's heart. He'd heard John have nightmares as an adult, and that was painful enough, but as a baby John didn't understand what was going on. He didn't remember the war or getting shot or Sherlock's fall, so seeing it in his sleep was even worse. Sherlock stood up with John still cradled in his arms and held the small child close. He kissed John's forehead and continued to whisper reassurances to his best friend as he brushed John's back with the pads of his fingers. A few moments later, the toddler had calmed once more, and resumed sucking his thumb. He was glad Mrs. Hudson would be out of town for a few days visiting her sister. Sherlock leaned over and picked up his violin and proceeded to John's room. He placed the sleeping John in his bed and tucked him in, then sat on the edge of the bed and began playing his violin, a soft and calming melody to help his John sleep.

This was going to be an interesting experience.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turns out, there was more to taking care of a toddler than just comforting one when it's sad. The list ranged from naps to certain amounts of sugar intake to certain types of shampoo and conditioner. While he was reading on what he needed to know, he realized he didn't have anything that a toddler would need. He could go shopping himself, but he despised shopping. He could call Mycroft, but he hated that idea even more. He decided he would text Lestrade and see if he had any ideas. Soon after he got a text back from Lestrade saying that he would pick up some clothes when he was done at work, and in return, Sherlock said he could use his card (it was actually Mycroft's, but the detective inspector didn't need to know that, did he?). Sherlock shut his laptop and pushed it aside, grabbing the case file for the case he and John had been working on before… before, all this happened.

He only got through the first three pages before the sound of small feet padding their way down the stairs was heard. He looked over and saw John standing in the doorway, rubbing his tired eyes with his tiny fist. He toddled over to Sherlock and attempted to climb onto his lap, but in the end, Sherlock had to lift him up. John yawned a big yawn and Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle as John leaned against him, wanting to go back to sleep.

"Morning, John."

"Mowning Sherwock."

"No more bad dreams last night?" John shook his head and Sherlock smiled before laying a kiss on John's small temple. "Good. Do you want some cereal?"

"Yes pwease."

Sherlock stood with John on his hip and walked into the kitchen. He took the box of cheerios and poured some into a bowl before getting the milk out of the fridge. He reached around the arm that resided there and pulled out the carton.

"Sherwock, no body parts in the fwidge," John scolded. He apparently remembered Mrs. Hudson's many scoldings about limbs in the fridge.

"I'm so sorry, John. Can you ever forgive me?" he asked dramatically, a playful smile on his lips. John giggled and nodded. Sherlock smiled again and sat John down on a chair. When he realised that John was to short to reach the table by himself, he moved him over to the coffee table in the living room. John ate his breakfast without making too much of a mess, which Sherlock was thankful for. Once he was done, John toddled over to the loo and tried to reach the handle. Sherlock walked over and opened the door for him. He got a small stool so John could get onto the toilet and let him do what he needed to do. About four minutes later, he could hear John giggling. He walked over once again and knocked on the door. The giggling stopped and Sherlock became suspicious.

"John, what are you doing in there?" This earned him another giggle, and Sherlock pushed the door open. He stepped inside and saw John, and in front of him was a pile of shaving cream that had been spread onto areas such as the walls, sink and tub. Sherlock looked around at all the shaving cream-covered areas and then back at the toddler responsible as a sigh escaped his lips.

"John, what am I going to do with you?" John just stuck his hands in the cream again, squeezing his small hands to squish it between his fingers. Sherlock sighed and went to pick John up. John reacted to that by wiping the shaving cream on Sherlock's face. Sherlock stood still for a moment before taking a bit of the cream on his finger and dabbing it on John's nose. John burst out in a fit of laughter and Sherlock couldn't help laugh too. Once the laughter died down Sherlock looked John over again. He had shaving cream in his hands, on his face and in his hair.

"You know you need to take a bath now, right?" Sherlock almost laughed at how fast John's expression changed. The giant smile the toddler had been flashing a moment ago and was now replaced with a death glare.

"No!" John protested.

"Now John…"

"No!"

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes, John." Sherlock made sure his tone wasn't harsh but strict enough that John he was serious. John pouted, but didn't try to argue again. Sherlock turned the water on, making sure that it wasn't to hot or cold, like the website had said. Once he found it satisfactory, he undressed John. He was about to put him in the bath, when he noticed the bruises running up and down his arms, legs, neck chest and back.

"Oh, John," he whispered. He decided not to a ask John about it. He didn't want to make John remember the experience. He placed John inside carefully, and took a rag and held it over John's eyes while he dumped water over his head with a cup. He couldn't wash John's hair since he didn't have childrens shampoo but he could at least get John cleaned off. He took the bar of soap and gripped it with the small flannel he had used to cover John's eyes. He ran it up and down John's arms, back, chest and tummy carefully, before taking the cup once again and rinsing the soap off the child's skin. He made a mental note that bathing a child would easy, if said child hadn't been hell-bent on soaking him throughout the process.

Once John was clean Sherlock drained the water and wrapped John in a towel. He took the small boy up to his room and put him in another one of his jumpers. This one, obviously, was too big also, but until Lestrade showed up later that day, it would have to do. He then took John back downstairs and set him back at the coffee table, this time with some paper and a pen to keep him entertained. The two-year-old drew for about an hour while Sherlock continued to read the case file. Apparently, the two men that had kidnapped John had kidnapped several other people at some point as well. They had been testing a new chemical from the russian compound. For once, Lestrade was right about something related to the case.

He heard the clink of a tea cup and John with a minor surprised "oh". He looked over to see that John had knocked the tea cup over and it now spilled over the edge of the table. Sherlock sighed and said "John, for God's sake, do be careful."

"Sowwy Sherwock," John said, tears in his eyes. He didn't mean to make Sherlock mad.  
Sherlock looked down at the toddler, and the irritated look in his eyes melted a little. He sighed and shook his head. "It's fine, just, be more careful, okay?" he asked. He ruffled John's hair and walked into the kitchen to get something to get something to clean the spill. When he walked into the living room, he saw John look down at his drawing sadly. Some of the tea had gotten onto the paper and now covered half of it. Sherlock walked over and looked down at the picture, it was of him and John, or so he guessed by the large coat on one of the figures, and they were running down the street. It was a decent drawing for a two-year-old. Now it was covered in tea and tear stains. Sherlock picked the paper up and held it in front of himself and John so they could both see it.

"Is this you and me?" he asked.

John nodded sadly. "It was."

Sherlock looked at John sadly. He didn't know why, but he hated seeing John upset; weather it was as an adult or little kid. He pulled the small child up on his lap and held the picture in front of them both. "It's very good," he praised. "What are we doing?"

"Running from the hound, wemember?"

This made Sherlock stop. "You remember the hound?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember any of our other cases? Or the war, or…" he really didn't want to mention his fall, to risk John remembering and lose the trust and safety that he felt in the detective. John looked up at him confused. "Apparently not." John handed the picture to Sherlock.

"I dwew it for you."

"For me? Oh, thank you John," he said as he gave the child on his lap a small squeeze and put the paper down on the now clean table. Sherlock looked over at the clock. It was noon, and he remembered the website saying something about small children taking naps around this time. "I suppose I should put you'd down for a nap now." John shook his head furiously. "John we've been through this before." John shook his head furiously again. Sherlock sighed and turned John around so that he was facing Sherlock. "Now, John. I have work that I have to do and you need to take a nap. Understood?" Sherlock asked sternly. John pouted, but didn't argue. Sherlock picked the young boy up and carried him up the stairs to his room. He pulled the covers back and laid John down gently before tucking him in, and turning to leave.

"Sherwock!" John called out. Sherlock sighed and turned to the small boy. He was expecting an argument, but turned to see John with his arms outstretched towards the detective, a look of worry in his eyes.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked as he walked back over to the bed and sat sown next to John.

John wrapped his arms as far as he could around Sherlock's middle, which was only about halfway. What he said next near broke Sherlock's heart. "Don't let them hurt me again."

Sherlock wrapped his long arms around John's small body and hugged him tight. "Don't worry, I'll never let them hurt you again."

"Will you stay here wiff me?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock. The detective noticed that the worry was still in his eyes.

Sherlock looked to the door, he really did have work to do, but when he looked into the eyes of the scared little boy, he couldn't bring himself to say no. He could stay until John fell asleep, then go attend to his work. So he nodded and laid down on the bed next to John as the toddler snuggled into his side, tucked his thumb in his mouth and fell asleep, feeling safe and protected as his tiny hand grasped Sherlock's shirt.

As planned, Sherlock began to get up but there was a whimper as he did and the small hand gripped his shirt tighter. He sat still for a moment, then carefully detached the small hand from his shirt and got up. There was another small sound of protest but before John could wake up, Sherlock soothed his hair and placed a kiss on the small boys forehead. He continued to soothe his hair until he was certain John wouldn't notice his absence, gently pulled the thumb out of his mouth, and then left to go downstairs, closing the door quietly, but keeping it open a small crack in case John woke up and needed him.


	3. Chapter 3

Lestrade came over around 13:30 with two bags of supplies and a fold up crib. The bags consisted of clothes, childrens shampoo, conditioner, and soap, some food items such as cereal and biscuits and other snacks for a young child, some kids movies, a few toys, and other child supplies.

"Thank you, Lestrade." Sherlock said, a bit stiffly. Thank you's weren't really his thing. "Have those two creatures made a statement yet?"

"Not yet. Why?"

"They hurt John. Abused him just beyond altering him."

"What?"

"I gave him a bath earlier and he was covered in bruises. Then when I put him down for a nap, he was afraid they were going to 'get him again'."

"Jesus. Alright we'll get to it as soon as possible. How bad were they?"

"For John? For a two-year-old? Bad enough. Worse. He doesn't deserve that."

"No, he doesnt."

Their conversation was cut short when Sherlock felt a tugging on his trousers. He looked down and saw John standing there, his eyes sleepy and his hair disheveled. Sherlock leaned over and picked him up, resting him on his hip as John leaned into him.

"Hi, John, how are you doing?" Lestrade asked. John looked up at him shyly, then nuzzled his face into Sherlock's chest, trying to hide himself. He seemed to remember him a little, probably from last night. Lestrade put on a kind smile and walked over to the bags, pulling out a teddy bear. He walked over and held it out to John. "Do you want it? I got him just for you." John looked at the bear and tentatively reached out for it, pulling it back to him and hugging it tight.

"What do you say, John?" Sherlock urged.

"Fank you."

"You're welcome, John," Lestrade said with a smile. John leaned his head into Sherlock's shoulder and fell asleep, teddy bear in his grasp. "I have to admit I'm surprised. I never knew you would be so good with a child."

"Yes, I'm surprised. Thank god for the internet, or I wouldn't have a clue as to what I'm doing. But John isn't an ordinary child. John is special."

"Well, it's good to know that he's being cared for."

"He is," Sherlock said as he glanced down at the little boy. He leaned his head down and placed a small kiss on the top of the boys head.

"I better get back to work, if you need anything, just send me a text." With that, Lestrade walked down the stairs and out of 221B.

Sherlock unfolded the crib and placed John inside it, so that he could keep his eye on him while he worked. When John woke up, he would give him another bath and put him into some clothes that actually fit him. He glanced at John every few minutes, and at least twice he saw him sucking his thumb. Each time he would get up and gently pull it out, laying his small hand on the bear instead, but after a while, John would stick his thumb in his mouth before Sherlock could even move.

"John, you are one stubborn child." As if to respond, John moaned softly in his sleep. Sherlock just smirked and went back to his work.

**oOo**

_They've made their statement, if you want to come read it? GL_

_Be over in a bit. SH_

Sherlock pocketed his phone and went over to the crib the held the sleeping John. He picked the sleeping child up, the sudden movement awaking said child. He walked over to the bag and pulled out some clothes. He dressed the sleepy child in a green jumper with a small zipper in the front, a pair of tan trousers, some socks and trainers. He put on the jacket Lestrade had gotten and before putting on his own, along with his gloves and scarf. He picked John up and walked out to the street, hailing a cab and heading to the yard.

"Sherwock," John said. Sherlock looked down at him

"What is it, John?"

"Hungwy."

"We'll eat when we get home, okay?" John nodded and began to play with the buttons on Sherlock's coat, accidentally ripping one off.

"John! Be careful!" John looked up at Sherlock, a little startled by Sherlock's tone. It was a bit harsh, and he didn't remember it, but he didn't cry. He looked down at his lap and kept his hands to himself until the cab ride was over.

When they got to the yard, Sherlock paid the cabbie and walked into the building, ignoring the confused looks from the yardies. When they walked into Lestrade's office, John reached his arms out for the DI, and Sherlock felt a small pang of something, but he pushed it aside.

"Here's the case file," Lestrade said as he handed Sherlock a folder. While Sherlock looked it over, he looked down at John and asked "Have you been good?" to which John nodded with a proud smile on his face. Greg chuckled a little bit. "Good."

Sherlock snapped the case file shut. "Alright, I'll look this over more later. For now, John, let's get home and get you some lunch." He took John in his arms, then turned to start for the street but stopped once more. "By the way, Lestrade, what do you feed a toddler?"

"I bought some soup, just heat it up for a little bit, make sure it's not too hot or cold."  
"Right. Now, John, let's get home, shall we?" John just nodded, and Sherlock turned to leave.

**oOo**

John was silent and still the entire ride home. He just sat on Sherlock's lap and leaned into him a little. For a while, Sherlock thought he had fallen asleep, but when he checked, he was still awake.

When they arrived home, Sherlock placed John down and got a can of soup out of the bag, when he heard a small voice say "not hungry." He looked over to the source of the voice, whom had moved into the living room, and was now lying on the ground. He didn't look so good.

Sherlock walked over and picked John up to put him in his crib, but when John's forehead brushed against his neck, he noticed that he was quite hot. He placed a hand on John's forehead. "John, you're burning up."

Sherlock took John's coat off and placed him in his crib before taking his phone out and texting Lestrade.

_John's sick, what should I do? SH_

_What's wrong with him? GL_

_He has a high fever. SH_

_Have him go to sleep. It will be most comfortable for him. I will bring some medicine after work if still needed. Other than that, just see if his fever drops. GL_

Sherlock looked over to John, suddenly feeling a little bad for yelling at him in the cab. John was cuddling with his blanket and bear, but even though Sherlock could see that he was trying, he couldn't fall asleep. Then Sherlock remembered that when he was little and didn't feel good, his mother would hold him to soothe him into sleep. Maybe that would work with John? It was worth a try. Sherlock picked the small child up in his arms, wrapping him in his blanket to keep him warm. He handed John his bear and held him securely in his arms as he walked around slowly, sometimes stopping to just sway slowly.

Apparently, children found the sense of gentle motion to be quite soothing. Sherlock walked at a slow, calm pace as he held John close, occasionally taking one arm away to brush hair out of the toddlers heated face, or to pull John's thumb out of his mouth. It was obvious that John was tired, but he just couldn't get to sleep. Sherlock leaned down and kissed his forehead gently, noting that while his temperature hadn't gone up, it hadn't dropped either.

Eventually, John's eyes started to drift shut, little by little. Sherlock was glad that he could offer John some comfort. He leaned in and placed another gentle kiss on his forehead, noticing that his skin seemed warmer than it had before. He pulled out his phone and texted Lestrade that medicine would be needed. Finally, John's eyes shut, and he fell asleep.

"I apologize for getting mad at you," he whispered in the sleeping child's ear. In response, John snuggled deeper into Sherlocks hold and moaned softly.

Sherlock walked over to his chair and sat down, still cradling the toddler in his arms. He stroked John's hair soothingly as he slept, hoping that he would at least rest peacefully. He also hoped that he was doing everything correctly, he himself hadn't gotten sick in years, and as an adult, John was a doctor and knew how to take care of himself. Now Sherlock was left alone with a baby that had a growing fever, and he knew that the human body couldn't survive if the temperature rose or fell 7 degrees past normal. For now, he would wait and see if it went down on his own, then give John the medicine Lestrade was bringing over. John subconsciously moved his thumb over to his mouth, but before he could get it in, Sherlock grabbed it gently and stroked it with his thumb. He couldn't help but smile when John's small finger wrapped around his own larger one. He continued to stroke the soft skin until Lestrade showed up with the medicine.

There was a small, soft knock at the door, and Sherlock got up and answered it to be greeted with Lestrade. He handed Sherlock the medicine and looked down at John.

"How's he doing?" He asked as he put a hand on John's forehead.

"Fine, I believe. He-" he was cut off by Lestrade.

"Sherlock, have you taken his temperature?"

"I don't exactly have a thermometer."

"Here, I bought one just in case," Lestrade said as he took out a thermometer out of the bag still sitting on the counter. He opened the package and ran the thermometer over John's forehead. It beeped a few times, then twice in a row to state it was finished. Lestrade looked at it, and looked worried.

"Sherlock, his temperature is at 104 defrees (fahrenheit). Get a cold, damp flannel on his forehead, I'm going to fill the tub with cool water," Lestrade instructed as he walked to the bathroom. Sherlock, for once, did as he was told and got a flannel from the drawer, and ran it under the cold tap. He wrung it out and placed it on John's forehead before heading to the bathroom.

"I'll take it from here," Lestrade said, "go and get some pajamas ready for him. I'll let you know if I need your help." Sherlock handed John to Lestrade and left the bathroom, trusting Lestrade to take care of him.

In the bathroom, Lestrade undressed John and placed him in the cool bath water, holding him with one arm so that he was reclined in the water, but that he could still breathe. He took the flannel from the edge of the bath and dipped it in the water, running it gently across John's face to try and cool it down. If this didn't work, he would have to take him to the surgery.

Luckily, though slowly, John's temperature started to go down. Lestrade was a bit surprised that he hadn't woken up by entering the cold water, but it was probably for the best. Once John's temperature got low enough to the point that it wasn't a worry, Lestrade took John out of the water, wrapped him in a towel, and drained the water before leaving for the living room. When he got out there, he saw Sherlock sitting in his chair, looking a bit… worried? Was Sherlock Holmes actually worried? The consulting detective looked up at the DI and seeing the calm look on Lestrade's face, the worry seemed to dissipate.

"Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine, Sherlock. Just keep an eye on him tonight, check his temp again in an hour and see what happens. If it gets this high again, take him to the ER."

"Alright. But one more thing. How did you know what to do?"

"I have kids, Sherlock," Lestrade said, rolling his eyes. He had known Sherlock for over ten years and the man still didn't remember this. Probably because it had nothing to do with a case.  
Sherlock nodded and Lestrade headed for the door.

"Oh, Lestrade," Sherlock called. Lestrade turned around and faced him, waiting to hear what Sherlock had to say. "Thank… you…" Sherlock said, almost like he didn't know if it was the right thing to say. It must have been, because Lestrade smiled and chuckled a little.

"Don't worry about it, Sher. G'night." With that, Lestrade left, leaving John in Sherlock's arms, wrapped in a towel, still asleep.

Sherlock walked over to the couch, where he had some children's pajamas out for John. He laid John down and unwrapped the towel slowly, so John's damp skin had a chance to adjust to the new temperature. He slipped on a small pair of pants onto the child, then the pajama trousers and then the shirt. He noticed that his bruises were healing well.

He walked into his bedroom and placed John on his bed for a moment before changing into his own pajamas. He went out into the living room and collected the crib, bringing it into his room and placing it next to his bed. He picked John up to put him inside it, but John seemed perfectly fine staying with Sherlock. He nuzzled his forehead into Sherlock's neck and gripped his shirt while soft sounds escaped his slightly parted lips.

Sherlock debated whether or not to put the toddler down, but he decided to just let him stay where he was. Sherlock sat on his bed and leaned against the headboard, adjusting John so that he would be comfortable. John stuck his thumb in his mouth once again, and Sherlock decided to just let him do it this one time. He rubbed John's back with his hand as he kissed the top of John's head. He didn't know why the small child brought out this affectionate side of him, nor did he realise that John had always had that effect on him.


	4. Chapter 4

There was no doubt in Sherlock's mind that John felt better the next morning. He woke up to John jumping up and down on his bed. Sleeping almost all day yesterday apparently gave him a lot of pent up energy.

Sherlock glanced at his clock to see that it was 11:00 am. John was probably hungry. As if he could read Sherlock's mind, John shouted out "Hungwy!" He then proceeded to jump off the bed, grab Sherlock's hand and pull him out into the kitchen. Sherlock couldn't help but notice that the crib had been moved across the room. John toddled into the kitchen with Sherlock in tow, but tripped a few feet in front of the kitchen. Sherlock picked him up and set him on his feet again, and let John continue to lead him.

Sherlock took the can of soup he was going to make the night prior. _Put it in a pan, heat it up, make sure the temperature is okay, easy_. Or so he thought. Sherlock may not have cooked a lot in his life, but he was pretty sure that soup wasn't supposed to explode all over the place.

He and John had been standing by the stove, John sitting on Sherlock's hip, when the soup started to boil. Sherlock hadn't noticed this however, because he had been texting Lestrade about a possible case, and John didn't know anything was wrong with it. Then it started to make small, bubbling eruptions, landing soup around the burner on the stove. This is when it caught Sherlock's attention. Before he could do anything, the soup blew up, covering himself, John, the walls, counter, more places than Sherlock thought the single can of soup could cover. Sherlock and John just stood silent for a moment.

"Uh oh," John said. Sherlock and John glanced at each other, and the toddler burst out into a fit of giggles. Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless.

"Seems like a great time to give you your bath." There was that scowl again. Sherlock chuckled and walked over to the bathroom. He began to run the water when John spoke up.

"Bubbles pwease."

"Bubbles?"

"Lestwade bwought them."

"Alright. I'll go get them." He walked out and looked in the bags, locating the bubbles and heading back to the bathroom. He was half expecting the bathroom door to be locked, but it was wide open, and John was even undressing himself. Sherlock walked over to the tub and poured in some bubbles, then placed John inside.

The toddler instantly began to play with the bubbles that surrounded him, and Sherlock had no idea how anyone could find so much entertainment in bath bubbles, but as long as John wasn't splashing him, he didn't question it. He held the flannel over John's eyes and dumped water on his head, wetting his hair before squirting some of the shampoo onto his hand and working it into John's hair. He put the flannel back over John's eyes and rinsed his hair, then started with the conditioner. Both products smelled strongly of berries. He glanced down at John, whom had bubbled all over his face. Sherlock smiled a little bit at his best friend and shook his head as he washed the conditioner out of John's hair.

Lestrade had texted him earlier that morning, saying that they had started working on a cure for John's condition. Sherlock was happy to be getting his best friend back, but he had to admit he would miss this a bit, the way John needed him and the way he could hold him close without John questioning it, but instead enjoying it. Or the way he could kiss John's head and it would make him feel better instead of even more upset.

Where had all that come from? He knew John always made it hard for him to keep emotions blocked, but he had never caused so much sentiment to come spilling out like that. He was pulled out when a small hand clutched his own.

"Sherwock, am I done pwease?"

"Almost." He took the soap and began to wash John's small body with it, and it must've tickled because the toddler burst into laughter. He laughed for quite a while, but the laughter stopped abruptly and John looked at his arm.

"Owie," he said, as he looked at one of his bruises.

"Did I hurt you, John?"

"No." John shook his head and for a minute, he looked like he was going to cry; but he didn't.

Sherlock gently lifted John's head so he was looking at him. "I'm not going to let them hurt you, not again, John." He didn't get a response. John just looked down at his lap.

The bath was finished in silence as Sherlock rinsed the soap off John's skin. He drained the water and wrapped John in his towel, then helped him get dressed. Once that was done, Sherlock took his own shower while John sat on his crib, which had been moved into the living room once more, with the toys Lestrade had bought for him. Once Sherlock finished he went into his room and got dressed, then went out to sit in his chair and run over a few facts in his mind palace, after taking John out of his crib. About ten minutes later he started to get up to go to the kitchen, but was stopped when John sat on his lap. He looked up at Sherlock with big eyes, and quite frankly, it was adorable.

"Sherwock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Can we get ice cweam pwease?

Aha. "Maybe later," he said with a small chuckle.

Sherlock walked over to the kitchen with John on his back, arms wrapped around his neck. He took out another can of soup and put it in the pan, making sure not to take his eyes off it. After a while, but before it started bubbling, Sherlock turned the stove off and put the soup in a bowl with an ice cube so it wouldn't be too hot. John ate it happily at the coffee table while Sherlock checked his website for any good cases.

The one from Lestrade was dreadfully dull. He could hear John's annoyed grunts from noodles falling off the spoon, and could see him hold the noodles on said spoon with his fingers until he got it to his mouth, to which he would then shove the spoon in his mouth proudly. This continued for about five minutes until John finished the soup, to which he took his dishes and tried to put them in the sink, but Sherlock had to help him with that part.

"Ice cweam now please," John said as he held his arms out, as if Sherlock was holding it just out of reach.

"After your nap."

"Not seepy," the toddler lisped.

"Ah, but your ice cream depends on it." John pouted, but walked over to his crib. He really wanted ice cream. Sherlock lifted him up and placed him inside. He draped the blanket over John and handed him his bear, then rubbed his back slowly, trying to calm him into sleep. It took a while, but the toddler eventually drifted into sleep. Sherlock glanced at the clock; 12:30, only a half hour late.

Not really having anything else to do, Sherlock picked up his violin and began to compose. He hadn't done this in a while, so it was nice to be able to release his musical ideas. The song started off calm, gaining speed and suspense until it was like a raging storm, only to slow down again and regain its tranquility. He was so involved in composing he hadn't heard the whimpers coming from the crib. He didn't notice until the child cried out.

"Sherwock no!"

Sherlock's bow screeched to a halt at what he heard. John had had nightmares before, but Sherlock had only heard him say those words with a certain type of nightmare. John was dreaming about the fall. Sherlock placed the instrument down and picked the child up and held him close, over his heart, so that he knew it was a dream and that Sherlock was still alive. He shushed him and rocked him back and forth. He had been anxious about this for a while; he was the person that John had the most trust in right now, and he hadn't wanted to lose that. Now he just might.

John gripped his shirt and sobbed heart-breaking sobs, sobs more scared and damaged than Sherlock had heard from him. John's small body was shaking as Sherlock held him tighter, kissing his forehead and rocking him gently.

"John, it's me, Sherlock. I'm not dead, it was all a magic trick, remember? I'm here, John. Wake up, it's just a bad dream," he said, his voice breaking a few times as he listened to what he did to his best friend. "John, I'm so sorry. Please, wake up."

John must have heard him because his eyes snapped open and he looked up at Sherlock, looking more heartbroken than he ever had. Sherlock looked down at him, ignoring the fact that his own eyes were prickling with tears. He leaned his forehead against the one of the crying toddler. "I am so sorry, John," he said before planting a soft kiss on John's forehead, "it was just a dream." John shook his head furiously, his sobs never dying down.

"No, iss not," he sobbed out, "I saw you Sherwock." Damn. He was remembering. Sherlock was about to ask John if he remembered anything else, but when he looked down in the sad eyes of the child, he knew it was still toddler John, not adult John, so Sherlock knew he wouldn't remember.

"I'm so sorry, John. I promise I'll never leave you again. Ssh," Sherlock hushed as he leaned his forehead to John's once more, reassuring the toddler that he was really there. He repositioned John so that his ear was over his heart once again. Between the heartbeat, the slow rocking and Sherlock's forehead against his own, John's sobbs slowed down, but he still clung to Sherlock like a lifeline. Sherlock got up and got John's blanket from his crib and draped it over him, then proceeded to walk and sway while resting a hand on John's head fondly as he cried into Sherlock's neck. His tears stopped as he put a small hand on Sherlock's chest, the tears resting on his plump, pink cheeks. He nuzzled his forehead further into Sherlock's neck and rested there as Sherlock's body swayed in a relaxing motion. Sherlock thought that John had fallen asleep after a while, but when he looked down, he saw John starting off in the distance. Sherlock had seen adult John look like this after he returned, the look that said he was hurt and confused; that he didn't really believe that Sherlock was alive.

"I'm here, John. I won't leave you again, I swear." In response, John just gripped the lapel of his silky shirt. Sherlock leaned his head down and kissed John's temple gently a few times.

After a while, Sherlock tried to put John down for a moment so he could try soothing the small boy with his violin, but John gripped his shirt tighter. It went on like this for over an hour, anytime John thought Sherlock was trying to separate from him, he grabbed his shirt tighter, afraid that if he lost contact with Sherlock, he would disappear; much like the adult John did the first week or so if Sherlock left his sight for too long.

Eventually, John's eyes shut and he fell back to sleep. Noticing this, Sherlock sat in his chair and called, yes called, Lestrade.

"Sherlock?"

"He's remembering."

"Remembering what, exactly?"

"The fall."

"Christ. Does he remember anything else, does he remember that he's actually an adult?"

"No, I don't believe so, but every time I move he clings to me. I'm afraid he'll remember the war soon."

"Well, we've been working on the cure. Not sure when it will be finished but we're hoping for a week, maybe a little more. This describes his fever though, it was probably his body trying to work off the chemical."

"Right. I'll keep you informed on what happens."

"Good."

Sherlock hung up and stood. He walked to his bed and laid down, nesting John in his arms. He watched the boy sleep, stroking his cheek with his thumb and held him close, so that John would still know he was there. He leaned in and pressed one final kiss to the toddlers head before falling asleep himself.

"I won't leave you again, John. I promise."


	5. Chapter 5

Things weren't much better the next day. John didn't say anything, he just sat there, either on Sherlock's lap or right next to him. He didn't even argue when Sherlock gave him a bath. Sherlock didn't question it, he just let John stay on his lap while he held him. He looked John in the eyes, and the excitement that was normally there was dead and gone, and he was angered with himself for being the one that took it away.

"Do you want to get some ice cream now?" Sherlock asked. John shook his head sadly. "Do you want me to read to you?" John didn't say anything, just nodded. Sherlock carried John to the bedroom, where he had stored the bags in his wardrobe.

He pulled a few books out and held them in front of John. He pointed to one with a small mouse with large ears on it; "The tale of Despereaux". Sherlock retreated to the couch and sat down, opened the book, and began to read. "THIS STORY BEGINS within the walls of a castle, with the birth of a mouse. A small mouse. The last mouse born to his parents and the only one of his litter to be born alive." John sat quietly and listened as Sherlock read to him. He snuggled into Sherlock's chest until he fell asleep.

Sherlock looked down at the small child. It was his nap time now anyway, so it didn't make much a difference. He placed John in his crib and went over to his laptop, opening it up and looking for cases once more. There were a few semi interesting ones, but nothing that really caught his attention. He glanced over to John, who had his left thumb in his mouth and his right hand was rubbed against the side of his head as his small fingers curled and uncurled gently. All in all, he looked content and peaceful, and Sherlock was grateful for that.

He walked over to the crib and placed John's blanket on him once more, seeing as to how it was kicked off at some point, then proceeded to pull his thumb out of his mouth and rub his small tummy. This earned the detective a happy and content sound from the toddler he had been looking after. He smiled down at the child as he continued to rub his stomach, and before he knew it, two and a half hours had passed and John had woken up. He looked up at Sherlock and outstretched his arms, making it quite clear that he wanted to be lifted by Sherlock. Sherlock complied and lifted the sleepy toddler, resting him against his chest as John tried to wake up.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Mhmm," John mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with a small fist. Sherlock smiled at the fact he was being spoken to again.

"Do you forgive me about the… nightmare?" John remained silent for a moment, but nodded in the end, making Sherlock smile a bit wider. "Good. We're going to a crime scene, alright? Only for a little bit, then we can get some ice cream. Sound good?"

John smiled and nodded excitedly.

"Alright, let's get going," Sherlock said as he walked over to his coat. He set John down and slipped it on, before slipping John's own onto the toddler. He carried John down the steps, then let him walk with him, holding his hand of course, until they got to the taxi.

"Where to, sir?" the cabbie asked

"The cemetery, thank you."The ride to the cemetery was only about ten minutes. When they arrived they walked over to Lestrade, who was standing over a hallowed grave.

"Explain."

"A series of grave robberies. No one knows why or by who."

"Right." Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass and inspected the grave and shovel left behind. He didn't even notice John wander off to a nearby grave.

John toddled over to the grave and sat down in front of the stone.

"Mommy, Daddy," he whimpered, eyes stinging with tears. He didn't remember their death, but he remembered that they had died. His father had died of a heart attack when he was eighteen, and his mother passed away a few months before he left for afghanistan. He laid down on the grave, as though he were laying ontop of them like he did when he was a toddler the first time, when he felt strong hands pick him up. He was scared and tried to scramble out of the grip but then turned to see it was Sherlock.

"John, you can't just go running off-" Sherlock stopped speaking as he looked at the names on the grave; Samuel and Margaret Watson. "Oh. These are your parents." John nodded and was placed down. He toddled back over to the headstone and put his small hand on the shiny granite. He didn't say anything, just sat there looking at the stone. A little while later, he turned to Sherlock, tears streaming silently down his face, and reached out, silently begging for Sherlock to pick him up. He obeyed and held John close, gently and lovingly, and walked over to the rest of the group.

"What's wrong with him?" Sally asked. Sherlock just nodded in the direction of the grave. She looked in the direction, and her eyes softened a bit. "Oh."

"Yes. So if that is all I shall be on my way. Lestrade, have that liquid tested and let me know the outcome. I shall let you know what I can come up with." He then turned, a bit dramatically, and left to hail a cab. As promised, Sherlock got John some ice cream, which he ate a bit messily. It helped him cheer up a bit though. After that, instead of going home right away, Sherlock took John to the park. They walked over to the pond where there was a family of ducks swimming around. A small duckling waddled up to John, and Sherlock picked the small duckling up gently and held him in front of John.

"Gently," he said as John made to pet the duck. He brushed his hand against the soft feathers and laid a small peck of a kiss on the duckling's head before Sherlock placed him down to run to his family again. John smiled and reached for Sherlock's hand. Sherlock took it and walked with him down the path, slow enough that John could toddle alongside him, which was difficult because with his long legs, it was natural to walk fast.

They walked until about 17:00 before heading back to the flat. Sherlock ordered chinese takeaway, ordering fried rice for John since it was easy to eat, and sat down with the telly on to some kids show with talking animals. After dinner came and was eaten, Sherlock cleaned the table and threw away the empty food boxes.

It was later that night when Sherlock's phone rang. John and Sherlock were lying in Sherlock's bed, John sleeping peacefully on Sherlock's chest and Sherlock rubbing his back gently, dozing off himself. Taking care of a toddler was hard work. He stopped when his phone rang and saw it was Lestrade.

"What?" He asked quietly, but not without attitude.

"Sherlock, that chemical on the shovel was the de-aging serum."

"What?"

"They haven't only been testing on live subjects, their trying to rejuvenate the body's molecular structure to reverse death."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. And after some research, we discovered that all the graves that were robbed belonged to the others they had previously kidnapped. They're killing these people to try and bring them back to life."

"Of course! It all makes sense!"

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "Sure, Sherlock. G'night." With that, the line went dead.

Sherlock placed his phone on the table at the side of his bed. He sat himself up against the headboard and repositioned John, carefully so he didn't wake up. He moved the toddler down a little further and rested his chin lightly on the mop of blonde hair, one hand under John's bum to hold him in place and the other rubbing his back. He did this for a while before he noticed something he hadn't before. Was John... smaller than he was a couple days ago? And now that he thought about it, his features looked even younger, his walking was even more unsteady, he hadn't been talking as much today, and when he did speak, it was only one or two words, not even the small sentences he had been able to structure. He laid John on his back on the bed so he could look at him. His suspicions were confirmed.

John was getting younger.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N sorry for the shorter chapter, but it just seemed like a good place to stop :)**

"Christ," Lestrade said as he saw John. Sherlock had called him once he realized that John was getting younger and he came right over.

"Yes, he has regressed approximately three months."

"I can't believe we didn't notice. Especially you, Sherlock."

"I am also surprised," Sherlock said. He had John laying on his chest, swaying slightly, with his baby blanket on top of him while he continued to sleep. "Lestrade, we need that cure. Now. Is it ready?"

"Not quite, but I'll tell them to speed up the work. He must have slowly regressed over the two days instead of all in one day, if you hadn't noticed it until now."

"Must have." Sherlock glanced down as John moved in his arms. He and Lestrade looked down at him for a bit, concerned of what might happen to him. When they glanced back at each other, Sherlock said, "Tell them to get that cure done soon. If we don't hurry, he could regress until the point where he'll just disappear."

Lestrade nodded, having thought about that possibility as well. "Right. Will do. Take care, Sherlock." With that Lestrade turned around and lead himself out of 221B, Leaving Sherlock and John alone in the flat.

Sherlock didn't sleep right away that night. He didn't put John down, just held him in his arms as close as he could. He always meant it when he said he'd be lost without his blogger, and knowing that now he might lose him made him rather uneasy.

As he glanced down at the toddler in his arms who was so blissfully unaware of what was going on, he thought of all the cases they had gone on, all the times they had laughed with or at each other, the time John killed the cabbie to save Sherlock's life the day after they met, really any good memory of the two of them that he had locked away in his mind palace. He smiled as he thought of those times, and held onto the hope that they would have more.

John shifted in Sherlock's arms, accidently hitting Sherlock's chin as he rubbed his eyes and his hand, which was balled into a fist, slipped. A small, sleepy sound escaped the toddler as he once again snuggled into Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock moved the blanket back up to John's neck to keep him warm. John's thumb was once again tucked into his mouth and Sherlock decided to just leave it (John, as Sherlock had learned over the past few days, was very stubborn as a child). He put a hand to the back of John's head, leaned him back a little so he could look at him, and kissed the small forehead that he was presented with. The unexpected contact made John's arms flail out a little, but not even enough to hit Sherlock's chin again. His arms fell slowly back to his sides and Sherlock kissed his forehead again, stroking John's temple with his thumb.

Sherlock couldn't deny it any longer.

From the day he met John, he knew he cared for him, but now he knew he cared for John as more than a friend, and it only took John being turned into a toddler and the fact that he might lose him to make him realize it. He leaned down to John, and whispered in his ear, "John, if you're still in there, I just want to tell you I meant it every time I said that I would be lost without my blogger. I love you. So, so much, and we're going to get you back. I promise."

John must have heard him, because a small smile twitched on the toddlers lips and he reached out for Sherlock. Sherlock moved his thumbs under John's armpits and moved him closer, rubbing his nose against John's, smiling as John smiled again in his sleep. He was once again leaned against Sherlock's chest, but grabbed onto Sherlock's finger.

Sherlock watched John sleep for a while before going back to his room and going to bed himself. He placed John in his crib and re-adjusted the baby blanket so it covered him again. Sherlock then placed John's bear next to him, which he gripped lightly and pulled closer. Sherlock left the room for a moment and came back with his violin. He sat on the edge of the bed and played a soft tune to help John stay asleep.

xxx

_Sherlock was in the pool area, the same where Carl Powers died._

"_Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this," he said as he looked around a bit, waiting for a response. He heard the door open and turned to see John standing there._

"_Evening," John said. Sherlock lowered his hand but didn't move. _No, John wouldn't do this. Not John, not my blogger, _Sherlock thought to himself. "This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"_

"_John. What the hell ...?"_

"_Bet you never saw this coming." John took his hands out of his pockets and pulled open the heavy jacket he was wearing. A semtex was strapped to his chest. As soon as the bomb was revealed, a small red dot traveled to the it. "What ... would you like me ... to make him say ... next? Gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer." John's voice cracked on the last phrase but other than that stayed calm. He was a soldier, he knew not to panic._

"_Stop it," Sherlock warned to whoever was making John do this. Panic began to rise in his chest as his heart rate increased, but he continued to mask it._

"_Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him." Sherlock could see John flinch ever so slightly before he said the next words. "I can stop John Watson too," both John and Sherlock looked at the small red dot aimed at the bomb on John's chest, "stop his heart."_

Sherlock was standing on the roof of Saint Barts Hospital. He was looking down at the frightened face of John Watson; his flatmate, blogger, partner, hell his best friend.

"_This call, it's my note."_

__"_Note? What do you mean note?"_

__"_That's what people do, isn't it? Leave a note?"_

__"_Leave a note when, Sherlock?"_

__"_Goodbye, John."_

__"_No, no."_

_Sherlock threw his phone off to the side and spread his arms out, leaned over the edge, and fell.  
_"_SHERLOCK!" he heard John shout from below. Sherlock thought of two things as he fell. He thought about how Moriarty, the night at the pool, said he could stop John Watson's heart, and then how he said he would burn the heart out of Sherlock. By making Sherlock jump, he had succeeded in doing both._

__Right as Sherlock hit the ground in his dream, he fell off his bed and onto the floor in real life.

xxx

Sherlock hit the floor with a thud. The first thing he heard was the cry of a young child. He looked up over his bed at the alarm clock, it was a little past one in the morning. Sherlock then stood up and looked at John, who was crying as he clutched his bear so tight, Sherlock thought that the head would pop off. He made his way over to the child in distress and picked him up, cradling him in his arms as he wrapped the blanket around him and tried to soothe the young child. The fact that it was storming harshly outside didn't help.

"Ssh, it's alright John. It's alright. Ssh." The child continued to cry as Sherlock held him. He wasn't sure if John was having a nightmare about his past or just dreamt of something that would frighten a recently-two-year-old-but-now-only-almost-two-year-old.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and rocked John gently, letting the small child cry into his nightshirt. It was all he could do since his attempts to calm the child ended it vain. He held the child close and brushed his hand over John's hair until he finally calmed down. His teary eyes opened and looked to his shoulder. He poked it lightly and said "Owie."

Sherlock looked down at John's shoulder and pulled his shirt down a small bit and saw his scar.  
"Owie," John said again as tears gathered in his eyes. It still broke Sherlock's heart to see John so upset. Sherlock pressed a kiss to his finger and then pressed his finger lightly onto the scarred tissue.

"Better?" John sniffed and nodded, not looking Sherlock in the eye. "What did you dream about, John?" John now looked Sherlock in the eyes as tears spilled from his own. He looked so scared, so helpless. He pressed his face into Sherlock's shirt and gripped it tightly as he began to cry again. Before it got too out of hand, Sherlock pulled John back lightly and looked him in the eyes.

"Don't worry, John. You're safe here with me, okay? I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise. Do you believe me?" John nodded and leaned into Sherlock's shirt again, obviously just as tired as Sherlock was. "Good. Let's go to sleep now, okay?" John nodded against his chest. "Do you want to sleep with me, or back in your crib?"

Sherlock assumed the tightening grip on his shirt meant John chose the sooner, not the latter. Sherlock stroked the mop of blonde hair on the back of John's head, soothing John into the sleep that he needed. Once he was asleep, Sherlock laid him down in the bed, and just before he fell asleep, he said aloud, "Looking after a toddler is so emotionally exhausting." He looked down when he felt John shift beside him, his expression one of hurt and guilt. Sherlock smiled a small smile, and then said "but you're worth it," before placing a kiss on John's soft forehead. The toddler seemed to enjoy the feeling, because small fingertips brushed his cheeks, lightly because they were just within reach, and then gave sherlock a small kiss, more of a peck, on his cheek before falling asleep to the calming strokes of Sherlock's hand on his tummy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7! The movie mentioned is Disney's Frozen, if you didn't already get that :P**

The next morning, John sat in his chair, giggling hysterically to one of the kids movies that Lestrade had bought, one about a queen with ice powers that ran away, leaving her sister and her friends to find her. He seemed to find it quite hilarious, especially the talking snowman, Olaf. Sherlock sat at the desk, observing John's behaviour. He was having more trouble doing things than he did when this all began. Things like speaking, walking, sleeping, understanding things. He could still use the loo alone, something that Sherlock was terribly grateful for, but that too had gotten a bit more difficult, not to mention high off the ground, for the child.

So now he sat, watching the toddler so he could monitor changes in his behaviour to be able to notice if he is de-aging further.

That, and he was trying to ignore the constant songs that the characters sang.

John ran up to Sherlock and pulled him over to the couch, where he tried to climb up, but in the end, needed Sherlock to help him since he had gotten smaller and his walking wasn't as good. Once placed on Sherlock's lap, he took a handful of the shiny purple fabric of his shirt, then snuggled into it. Sherlock chuckled a little.

"Even as a toddler, you still envy this bloody shirt." She chuckled once more when he felt John give a firm nod.

The two of them stayed like that, Sherlock holding onto John as he wiggled and bounced around on his lap, laughing at the characters, until the snowman came back on.

"O'af!" John squealed, then proceeded to try and slip down Sherlock's leg and run to the telly. Sherlock looked at the clock, it was 15:00, and John had been quite energetic for the better part of the day. He had had Sherlock running, or rather walking since John could only muster an unsteady wobble, for hours and the detective couldn't help but feel that maybe it was karma, though it didn't exist, for making John chase after him for days on end when they would go on a case.

When the movie was (finally) over, John decided he wanted to go outside. It was sunny out, so Sherlock saw no harm. He put his coat on and helped John into his own, then picked John up and walked out of the flat, catching a cab and going to the park. When they got there, John made it quite clear that he wanted to swing. He was placed inside and squealed in delight as Sherlock pushed him.

After a few minutes, the swings started to get boring, so Sherlock took him to the slides, holding onto the toddler as he slid down the open slide. He then helped John with the monkey bars and then down the slide a few more times before taking him to the merry-go-round.

Two hours later, John wanted to go back home. It was obvious that running around for two hours wore him out. Sherlock would keep that in mind for future reference. He took John back to the flat and read to him a bit more, then gave him some sliced up pieces of banana. John had had a good day and for that Sherlock was thankful. He hadn't enjoyed seeing the little one so scared and upset. After he was done eating, Sherlock gave him a bath. He had gotten a rubber duck for John to play with so that he wouldn't constantly soak Sherlock with bubbles and bath water. John seemed to really like it. Everytime he would squeak the thing, he would burst into a furious fit of giggles and his immense amusement with it made Sherlock laugh too.

Once John was all squeaky clean, Sherlock drained the water and rinsed the bubbles off him, then wrapped him in a fluffy towel and lifted him up, taking him to his bedroom to put him in his pajamas. Once that step was done, Sherlock laid on his back against the headboard with John snuggled against his chest until the little one was asleep, then gently placed John in his crib before going out to the kitchen to work on an experiment, leaving his door open so he could hear John.

At about two o'clock in the morning, Sherlock heard a sound that stopped his heart. The sound of glass breaking and John crying Jerked his attention from his experiment and he ran to his room. He tried to go into his room but his door was locked. Sherlock rammed into the door with his shoulder but by the time he busted it open, it was too late.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey! Like the cliffhanger? ;) Any way, probably only one chapter left after this one. Maybe two, but I'm pretty sure the next will be the last.**

_At about two o'clock in the morning, Sherlock heard a sound that stopped his heart. The sound of glass breaking and John crying Jerked his attention from his experiment and he ran to his room. He tried to go into his room but his door was locked. Sherlock rammed into the door with his shoulder but by the time he busted it open, it was too late. _

"John?" Sherlock asked weakly. He didn't hear anything and his panicking became worse. "John!" He shouted as he looked around his room, not quite sure what else to do, when his eyes fell on a message above his bed, shining in the moonlight.

_Come and get me_. _JM_

Finally gaining some sense back he picked up his phone and dialed Lestrade. Before the DI could even answer, Sherlock shouted "He has John!"

"Who does?" Lestrade asked hurriedly.

"Moriarty."

"I'll be over in ten minutes. I suggest you get your brother on the phone to help with this." The line went dead and Sherlock turned his light on, looking for clues when he remembered the spy cams Mycroft had planted in his room. He had managed to find and disable all except one, and there were always the ones on the streets, though those were probably disabled. He picked his phone up once again and called Mycroft.

"Get to my flat as soon as possible. Check the cameras in my room and the CCTVs on the streets." Without letting Mycroft respond he hung up. He searched his room frantically until he came upon a small smudge of dark green ooze near his window. He went and got a knife from his bed side table and scraped it up, then took it out to his microscope, putting it on a glass slide and slipping it under. He observed it for a few minutes until he found what it was. At that moment, Lestrade and Mycroft came running in through the door.

"They took him down by the Thames. Whoever took him had some algae on his shoe that rubbed off onto the floor, and this particular type of algae only grows in the Thames river bank. Now over by the crib that John was in before he was taken, it smells strongly of mold, so it probably has a bad roof and is made of wood, so it's an older one. That narrows it to about five warehouses."

"And we'll have men in everyone of them."

"No. They won't be of any use. Have them stand guard, but this is Moriarty. He is bound to have snipers and it's me he wants."

"Fine, but be careful. Let's go."

The three of them went to the warehouse and Lestrade called in his best on the force to help with this. When they got there, it was fairly obvious which held John; the one where the crying was coming from. _Too easy_ Sherlock thought to himself. He walked into the warehouse alone and in the moonlight shining through one of the holes in the roof, he could see John sitting on a chair, some cuts and bruises covering his skin and tears rushing down his face.

"John!" he sighed in relief, then went to untie him, but then a voice spoke up.

"I wouldn't if I were you, Sherly." Sherlock skidded to a halt at the sound of Moriarty's voice. The lights, which surprisingly still worked, turned on to reveal John sitting on Jim's lap, looking terrified and confused. "He cries a lot doesn't he?" As if to prove his point, John sobbed harder and tried to go to Sherlock, but was still restrained by Moriarty. "Shut up!" the consulting criminal shouted very loudly, then fired a shot at the ceiling, the shouting and loud gunshot scaring John into further hysterics. Sherlock raised his gun and was about to shoot, when Moriarty said "Ah ah ah, not so fast. Wouldn't want to do something you might regret."

"I'm not afraid of you or your snipers."

"Oh no, no snipers here. Just you and me." Jim stood up and walked a few steps forward. "No, Sherlock, this isn't about your life," he took out a gun and pushed it into John's temple, "it's about Johnny boy's."

Sherlock's blood ran cold as he saw that gun press to John's temple. "No, no don't hurt him."  
"That's what I like to hear. Now here is what is going to happen. You are going to work for me. Do what I say, when I say, and in return John will live. Disobey once, and little Johnny won't see another sunrise. Understood?" Sherlock hated this. He hated being controlled but he couldn't bear it if John died, especially because of him. He nodded. "Good. First, get rid of the gun."

Sherlock tossed the gun to the side. "Good. Now, tell Greg's little friends to lay down their weapons." Sherlock took a few steps back to the edge of the warehouse and turned to the cops.

"Disarm your weapons."

"Are you nuts, freak?" Anderson asked, dumbfounded, as usual.

"Please," Sherlock choked out, tears brimming in his eyes but he ignored the sting. The cops looked at him for a minute, Sherlock never cries, but did what he told them to do. If Sherlock Holmes was crying, it must be crucial. Sherlock walked back inside, the only thing driving him to do this was John's frightened sobs.

"Perfect. Next come over here and smack John as hard as you can across the face."

Without thinking, Sherlock yelled "No!".

"Uh oh, did you hear that Johnny? Sherlock didn't follow the rules," Jim said in a singsong kind of way.

Jim cocked the gun. A gunshot was heard.

The sound of the sudden shot made Sherlock flinched severely. Panic raised in his system but when he turned around, he saw Jim and John lying on the floor, blood gushing out of the back of Jim's head and John was crying even harder now. Sherlock looked up from the two of them to see Lestrade standing in a back doorway with his gun raised.

"It's bloody freezing in here, but this creep gives me more goosebumps than the cold," he said. Sherlock ran up to the dead body and picked John up, tears smudging both their faces as Lestrade called for an ambulance. A few cops had run in at the sound of the gunshot but Lestrade dismissed them. Sherlock held John to his chest tightly and rocked him gently, ignoring the ringing in his ears from both the gunshot and the loud volume of John's crying. He had one gloved hand under John's bum, holding him in place and the other on the back of his small head, stroking in blonde hair in a calming way.

"Ssh, it's alright. I'm here."

"Sherlock?"

"What?"

"I think he's regressed again. About five months."

Sherlock sat down on the chair and leaned John back again, much to the toddlers dislike and he held him close again as the little one cried hysterically into his shirt, but he had seen that Greg was right. John went from about twenty-two months to about sixteen or maybe seventeen, about a year and half old.

"You're right. He has. It must happen when he is considerably stressed. First when he was so sick, and then maybe a tiny bit with nightmares, then a considerable amount now."

"Right. Well the cure should be ready in no more than three days, we just have to test it and see the effects. God, I hope it works, we don't have enough time left to start over."

"I know," he said as he continued to gently rock John subconsciously. He had calmed down a bit and was now leaning against Sherlock's chest and sucking his thumb, but tears continued to flow and the whimpering and shaking were still there. He rubbed John's back lovingly and tried to will the toddler to feel safe and secure, but it was hard. Even when he would have nightmares about afghanistan, and Sherlock could hear his shouts of terror from down in his bedroom and in his sleep, he hadn't been this frightened, and Sherlock, though he had managed to do a surprisingly well job taking care of him for the past few days, had no idea how to calm him down when this afraid. He looked to Greg pleadingly, something the DI never thought he would see, and mouthed 'what do I do?'

Greg thought for a moment, but he couldn't really think of anything that Sherlock wasn't already doing. He then whispered back, "Try and lull him to sleep, make him feel safe, just keep doing what you're doing."

"If he has a nightmare about this, that could be the end, he could regress too far. Lestrade what do I do about that?" he asked, and the DI saw more tears forming in his friend's eyes.

"Take precautions, I guess. Keep him happy, don't let him get to scared, if you play your violin make sure that there's no suspenseful, harsh-sounding parts in the song. And it's like I said, we're in the testing stage. It shouldn't be any more than three days, we're guessing."

Sherlock only nodded, listening to the soft whimpers and hums coming from the baby in his arms. He seemed to have fallen asleep. He stood to leave but the people on the ambulance wanted to look him over. Sherlock reluctantly agreed, but only on the terms that John stayed in his arms and that they wouldn't wake him up. They agreed and gently looked over his new bruises and cuts, cleaning them and deeming him fine and giving them their leave to go.

Sherlock placed John back onto his chest and wrapped his giant coat around the little one because he didn't have one on, and the warehouse and night air were both quite cold. He hailed a cab and asked the cabbie to put the heat on a tad higher, which he complied to.

Sherlock had moved John from his chest into a cradling position, and was now watching him as he sucked his thumb in his sleep, stroking his cheek with his finger subconsciously. Every once in a while, one of his little legs or arms would flinch a little. This continued even when they got home and into the flat. Sherlock shrugged out of his coat and went into his room to grab John's baby blanket, then moved out into the living room, deciding that the broken glass could wait until morning. He wrapped John up all nice and warm and held him close as he slept. He didn't put the t.v on, didn't listen to music or think about a case, just held John close and did everything he could to make him feel safe. He only got up once, and that was to dim the lights.

At around five in the morning, he got a call from Lestrade, asking how John was doing. Sherlock told him that he was sleeping peacefully and that he would let the DI know if anything happened.

After he hung up he looked down at John, a small smile gracing his figures. Looking after a kid was hard work, and the past few days had been anything but easy, but looking down and seeing John safe and sound made it worth it all. He leaned down and whispered in his ear, "John, my John, if you can hear me, just hang in there, we're almost done, it's almost time to get you back to normal. I love you. Just hang in there a little while longer, okay?" He sat back up and what happened next made him smile. John nodded his little head and in his sleep, from some part of his mind, he whispered something that sounded like "I love you too, Sherlock."

It was small, it was quiet and it was mispronounced, but it was there, and he knew that it was his John.

John woke up a few hours later, around eight. Sherlock looked down at him and saw the eyes of a sleepy toddler, nothing else, no trace of adult peeking through. He sat John up on his lap gently. John looked down at his arms and the new bruises forming there. He was about to poke one but Sherlock grabbed his hand gently and said "No no, John. Don't touch." John looked up at him, as if to confirm that Sherlock was speaking to him and not somebody else, and leaned against Sherlock's side, with his thumb in his mouth. Sherlock continued to rub his back as John just sat there, gripping onto Sherlock's shirt in his right hand as his left was tucked away safely in his mouth.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Sherlock asked gently. John nodded. Sherlock was about to move him from his lap but he tightened his grip on the shirt and whimpered. "Okay, come on," sherlock said as he lifted John with him and carried him over to the pile of kids movies. He picked one up and held it in front of John, and continued to do this until John reached for one he held out. It was 'The Tale of Despereaux", they had finished the book, so now he wanted to watch the movie. Sherlock put it in the player and laid down on the couch, John laying on his chest, sucking his thumb and watching the telly. John seemed to really like it. He laughed and made little comments like "Uh oh" and a when the hero got into trouble, John turned to Sherlock and said "Sh'ock!" (how he now pronounced Sherlock's name) to let Sherlock know that something bad happened, to which Sherlock would feign worry.

At the end of the film, Sherlock sat up and put John on his lap, then asked "did you like it?" to which John nodded before entertaining himself with Sherlock's long fingers. Sherlock let him play with them for a while before taking John to the kitchen and giving him some dried Honey Nut Cheerios (is that what they're called in England?) and a beaker of milk, which he drank happily.

After John was done eating, it was about ten o'clock, and Sherlock didn't know what to do for the rest of the day. He thought about taking John to the park again, but didn't really want to take him out of the flat because of what had happened last night. Moriarty had been shot and killed, and though it wasn't at Sherlock's hand, there were quite a few criminals that were bound to be pissed off at him.

So he and John stayed inside, playing games, reading books, and watching children's shows and movies on the telly. At noon, Sherlock put John down for a nap, and made himself a cup of coffee, and went on with his experiment.

At noon, he got another call from Lestrade.

"What?" he answered, his tone making it so obvious that he was annoyed that even Anderson would pick up on it.

"It's ready."

Sherlock didn't answer at first, for whatever reason. He blinked once, twice, three times before answering. "When?"

"We plan on tomorrow, about half noon? Mycroft already sent to get a private room. We just have to get the correct dosage."

"How is it measured?"

"Every ounce is worth three years. He's about one and a half now, but he's 37 regularly, so that's about 11.8 ounces, given to him over time, of course. It will take quite a while, into Friday morning, but it'll bring him back to normal." Sherlock nodded to himself and looked at the crib, which had been moved to the living room, and at the sleeping toddler. He was a bit surprised to feel a bit sad. He wanted John back, but he would miss little John too. "Hello? Sherlock, you there?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, just thinking."

"You're going to miss him being this size, aren't you." It was more of a statement than a question, really, and Sherlock didn't miss it.

"Is that bad?"

"Well, yes and no. No because it's alright to miss the toddler years, but yes because this needs to happen, and once it's done, they won't be back. At least you'll have John back to normal. You can finally get the chance to tell him how you feel."

"How did you-"

"I'm not as dumb as you think, Sherlock. I picked up on it, they way you worry over him and care for him, the way you would glance at him when he was an adult and smile to yourself. Hell, even the fact that you have him go everywhere with you. He's really the first and only person you care about or let in. And then there's the look in your eyes when you watch him. It's the same look he gives you when you make your deductions. Well, when you aren't being an arse about it."

Sherlock smiled to himself. "Alright. So, be there around noon?"

"Sounds good. East wing, top floor."

"Right. And, George?"

"Greg."

"Whatever. Thank you, for everything. It means a lot." He could almost hear the smirk on Greg's face, he knew Lestrade was enjoying this.

"No problem. Bye, Sherlock."

Lestrade hung up and Sherlock went over to where John lay asleep in his crib. He picked him up and cradled him in his arms and watched him, making use of the time he had left while John was still so little. He leaned down and whispered "Tomorrow, John," to which John responded by grabbing his finger with his much smaller ones, and a small smile twitched onto his lips.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Hey you guys! Here is the last chapter for you. Although, since I love you all so much and am so grateful that you read this story, it's NOT the last chapter! There is going to be an epilogue chapter up after this one, small though it may be, so don't be sad yet!**

Chapter 9

Sherlock awoke the next morning the exact same way he had fallen asleep; laying on the couch with John, wrapped in his blanket and his bear within his hold, in his arms. He hadn't even bothered to put John back in his crib, he just wanted to ensure the child's safety. He kissed John's temple before setting him gently in his crib, making sure he was comfortable before walking to the kitchen to make himself a piece of toast. It wasn't until he put the bread in the toaster that he remembered what today was. Sherlock looked at the clock to find that it was ten o'clock in the morning, he only had two hours before he got his best friend back.

Sherlock smiled to himself. Cases had gotten so dull without John running beside him. Not that he had really taken any the past week, but because none of them deemed worthy without John. It all seemed so… lifeless, so to speak.

John awoke to find that Sherlock wasn't anywhere to be seen, so he started to whimper, and then started to cry. Sherlock, whom had been in the shower, heard the distressed cry, shut the water off, and threw on his dressing gown before walking out to the toddler. At least he had waited until Sherlock was done showering to start crying. Sherlock picked him up and held him close. He wasn't sure if it was because Sherlock hadn't been there, or if it was because he had just woken up; a little of both, he assumed.

Sherlock took John into his room and laid the now calm toddler on his bed. He then proceeded to dry and comb his dark curls and get dressed, before dressing John, blowing a raspberry on his tummy before putting his shirt on, which made John squeal in laughter.

Sherlock took John out into the kitchen and put him in his booster, then cut up some banana and gave it to him. When John was done eating they went into the sitting room to play for a bit, since they still had a little over an hour left. They played and read and watched some telly before it was time to leave.

John seemed to know something was up because he wouldn't settle down. He kept trying to squirm out of Sherlock's arms and was fussy the whole ride, obviously getting on the cabbies nerves but Sherlock didn't care. When the got to St. Barts Sherlock paid the cabbie and went up to the top floor. John was quiet now but had decided to hide himself in Sherlock's coat because of all the people he didn't know. When they got to the private wing that Mycroft had arranged for John, they were met by the devil himself and Lestrade.

"Ready? Lestrade asked.

"Yes, best to get started right away."

Lestrade called over the doctors responsible for this procedure and told them that it was time to begin. They explained that they would give John one and a half ounces every hour, so that his body can get used to the feeling of growing so much a little bit at a time instead of all at once. They would have a nurse come in and replace his hospital gown every time they gave him a new dosage so he would be comfortable, and the part Sherlock hated the most, they couldn't allow anyone except doctors or nurses to come in during the procedure because they couldn't

risk John waking up, but that Sherlock would be allowed to be in there with John until he fell asleep.

John didn't seem to like any of this and tried to get away again, but Sherlock soothed his hair and whispered to him "Ssh, it's going to be fine, you'll be alright," though he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince John or himself. Nothing like this had ever been done before, and what if something happened and they didn't know how to deal with it?

When they entered the room the nurses removed John's clothing and put him in a hospital gown that was a few sizes to large for him. Sherlock placed him on the bed and felt his heart clench at the frightened cries of the boy when they put the IV in his arm. Sherlock tried to distract John by smoothing his hair or giving him a small kiss on the temple of forehead or even just playing with his hand gently, until the anesthetic forced him to sleep.

"Sir," one of the nurses said, "sir, you have to leave now." Sherlock didn't seem to notice, he just sat there, so she tried again. "Mr. Holmes, you have to leave now so we can start the procedure."

Sherlock blinked and stood up, watching the toddler for a moment more before turning and leaving the room. He walked into the waiting room and sat down near Lestrade, who could almost see the stress radiating from his body.

"Sherlock, he'll be fine."

"How do you know, they haven't done anything like this before. What if they mess up?"

"Have a little faith, they know what to do. Stop worrying so much."

Sherlock glanced over at the DI, then back to the door that separated him from John. "I will when you do."

The three of them sat in silence for a while, before Mycroft excused himself to go back to work. Not long after that, Greg went to go and get something to eat at the canteen. He offered to bring something back for Sherlock, but his offer was, unsurprisingly, denied.

Sherlock did small things to pass the time. He had Lestrade go to the flat to get his laptop and sheet music, he imagined himself playing his violin and managed to compose a few pieces. He also took a small nap and talked to Lestrade about some possible cases. He managed to pass about three hours doing these things. Only about four hours left.

He visited his mind palace for a while, remembering the events of the past week and storing them in the filing cabinet in John's room, the room closest to his heart… er, if he had one, that is. Before he knew it, someone was shaking him back to reality, and he was greeted with the face of Greg Lestrade.

"They're done. They said you can go in now, but he's still going to be sleeping."

Sherlock was in the room before he could even finish his sentence.

There he was, looking the same as he did a week ago before all this happened. John Watson, ex-army doctor, current doctor, best friend to William Sherlock Scott Holmes, and the only person to hold Sherlock's heart. Sherlock walked over to the bed containing his best friend and sat down. He took John's hand in his and intertwined their fingers. At the sudden contact, John's eyes tightened before opening slowly, blinking at the harsh white light shining down from the ceiling. He groaned, his body was very sore. He looked over to Sherlock and smiled.

"Hey."

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Like I was hit by a bloody truck. I can really tell that my whole body grew several feet in just a few hours."

Sherlock huffed a laugh, but his smile faltered a bit when he looked John in the eyes. "I'm sorry if I did something wrong, or if I hurt you, or almost killed you, or anything else I did wrong when you were-" he was cut off when a hand slipped to the back of his neck and pulled his lips onto John's. When John pulled away, he couldn't help but smirk.

"I'll have to remember that for when you ramble on in the future."

Sherlock just stared for a moment, before a small smile crept onto his face. "So you did hear me."

"I did. There was always a part of me that was still, well, me. It was very small and I couldn't do much with it because the toddler part was so overpowering, but yes I heard you, and I couldn't have been more relieved. I love you, Sherlock, and I have since I saw you on that rooftop."

They locked eyes for a few seconds, then tentatively, Sherlock moved him lips down onto John's. He wasn't sure if he was doing it right, but with John's guidance, he learned quickly. It was a sweet but tender kiss and it lasted until they had to pull apart for air. "I love you too."

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson walked into the room. "Oh dear, John. I was gone for a week only to come home to be told you were in the hospital," Mrs. Hudson tutted. "What have you boys gotten yourselves into this time?"

John and Sherlock looked at each other, and burst out laughing.


	10. Epilogue

Chapter 10: Epilogue

John bolted up in bed, sweat dabbing at his skin as the moonlight shone in through the window. He tried to slow his breathing and heart back down to a normal pace, but he couldn't. He was having a full on panic attack. It wasn't until he felt the movement in the bed next to him that he started to calm down. Sherlock sat up a bit, looked at the alarm clock, and then turned his sleepy figure back to John.

"John, what's wrong?"

"Nightmare. I'm fine."

"Obviously not. Your heart rate is up and so is your breathing. Tell me about it. You're still not quite back to normal physical strength yet, and hyperventilating like that will just exhaust you."  
John seemed a bit hesitant, but when he looked over at the icy blue eyes of his lover, he couldn't help but give in. With a sigh to try and calm his nerves, he began. "Well, it was different than my other nightmares, a mash-up of sorts. First, you jumped off Bart's, but instead of landing on the pavement, you had dove into a trench. You were with me, fighting in Afghanistan, and got shot. I was trying to save you, doing everything I could, but you grabbed my hands, and smiled sadly. You pulled me in for a kiss, then that was it. You died, and I couldn't save you. Then an explosion went off, but instead of being in Afghanistan, we were at the pool, and one of Moriarty's men blew up the semtex. What made it worse, though, was that it was after you took it off me, and you shielded me from it. I lived, but you didn't." It wasn't until now that the doctor realised that he had tears in his eyes, and he rubbed furiously at the orbs to get rid of them.

Sherlock held onto his blogger and kissed his temple. One good thing that came out of this whole experience was that he had learned how to calm John if need be. He scooted closer to John and put one leg on each side, one behind John's back and one under John's knees, then pulled him to his chest, mumbling reassurances into the slightly greying, sandy blonde hair and rubbing circles on John's T-shirt clad back.

John didn't cry, but he did let Sherlock comfort him. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and leaned into the embrace, falling back into a comfortable sleep some minutes later. Sherlock stayed up, hugging his blogger, his best friend,is lover and his heart to his chest, rocking out of new-found habit. Not that John minded, he actually found it comforting. Sometimes when Sherlock would be upset, he would do the same to him, rocking him in his lap while telling him that he was _not _a freak, loser, creep or heartless, which was true; Sherlock Holmes had one of the biggest hearts out there, you just had to gain its trust and treat it right.

The next morning when John woke up, the two began their new yet old rituals. They both showered, but now they showered together, then they got dressed and John made them both tea. Once the tea had been drank, they worked on a case, solved it, got take away then came back home to watch 'Doctor Who' or whatever they felt like watching.

Their life had gone back to normal. Except now, it was so much better.


End file.
